Daddy Be
by BetterThanCoffee
Summary: Monk Gyatso knows he's not Aang's father, he just doesn't want to admit it.


**A/N: I've been really busy working two jobs, so I have not been able to update in a long time. I'm really unhappy with the quality of this, but I had some free time tonight, and decided to flesh out the idea that has been bouncing around in my head for a while. I'll try to start posting more stories again as I should have more free time now that the holiday are over, but my laziness knows no bounds.**

Gyatso never meant for it to become a habit. The whole spectacle had started out innocently enough. The older monk knew he cared for the boy, but he never meant to fall so deep. The airbender was supposed to be a mentor – he was just supposed to be the young boy's spiritual guide through their people's customs. Love for his ward was inevitable, but when the chubby little baby smiles his toothless smile at the aging man, his cheeks rosy with glee, Gyasto knew he was done for.

Monk Gyatso was pushing sixty when the Council of Elders approached their peer about raising the newest arrival to the Southern Air Temple. While marriage was not common to the Air Nomads, it was not also completely unheard of. Regardless of the parental status, it was usually custom for a child to stay with their mother at her native temple, before being relocated for training once the child had reached an appropriate age. For a child still just a babe to arrive at the Southern Air Temple, something must have gone wrong.

Monk Gyatso, while the newest member of the Council of Elders, was still a respected member, and yet when he pushed about the arrival of this young boy, the other elders remained surprisingly tight-lipped about the whole ordeal. Monk Tashi, holding the babe as if he would rather rip his rather long beard from his face than be holding such a delicate package, quickly transferred the child into Gyatso's arms.

"Raise him," Tashi spoke gruffly.

"But I-," Gyatso stammered out, his eyes practically bulging out as he stared straight into the grey eyes of the wiggling baby in his arms.

"You've been asking for more responsibilities, yes?" Monk Pasang interjected. "What requires more responsibilities than raising a child?"

Gyatso opened his mouth to argue, but he just managed to choke on air. This had to be a dream, or rather, a nightmare. While Monk Gyatso was honored to be inducted into the Council of Elders, and was looking to prove himself of his worth, this was not what the monk had in mind. Gyatso had pictured perhaps taking on more classes, or perhaps some one-on-one training with the youths close to completing their journey to airbending master. In his wildest dreams, he had never imagined suddenly being saddled with the burden of raising a child at his advanced age.

"But be careful," Monk Tashi warned, sticking a crooked finger in Gyatso's face, "don't get too attached to this child. You are to be his teacher, not his father." Monk Tashi dropped his hand, a weary look coming over his face. Every line and wrinkle on Tashi's face seemed to be carved out of stone, and it suddenly occurred to Gyatso just how old they all really were. "This boy might be more important than you know."

Gyatso's eyes dropped to the child who had begun to gnaw his gums against the monk's thumb. Unconsciously, Gyatso held the child to him just a tad tighter. The baby giggled to himself, drool spreading over his front, and Gyatso could feel his resolve breaking. "Just one question," Gyatso started, realizing he had no choice in the matter, "what is this boy's name?"

"Aang," Monk Pasang answered.

The Council of Elders began to file out of the room, and Monk Tashi held back for a moment, hesitating. "You have a gentle heart, Gyatso."

The airbender looked up from the child in surprise.

"Let's just hope that heart of yours doesn't get us all in trouble."

With that, Gyatso was left alone in the Council Room with a baby. A baby that he was responsible for. A baby that he had to raise, clothe, feed, teach, and most importantly, love. A baby that would forever look up to Gyatso as not only his mentor, but the man who had raised him. Every action Gyatso took from this moment on would shape this child into the person he was to become. The weight of this obligation wore heavily on the monk. Was he really the right person for this duty? Was he really capable of bring this baby up to manhood?

The baby in question cooed in his arms, and Gyatso knew he had no time to question. The deed was already done, and the baby was in his care. There was no time for doubts – not when he now had someone relying on him. Looking at his ward, Gyatso couldn't help but to smile. The child was awfully cute.

"I promise you, Aang," Gyatso spoke softly, the corner of his eyes crinkling, "that you will never want for anything. That you will always be happy." Gyatso squeezed his eyes close, just for a second, in a moment of prayer. "Spirits, please bless this child. Please watch over him. Please."

The airbender would be lying if he said raising a child was easy, after all, Aang was a precocious child, but hearing Aang laugh or seeing the boy smile made it seem easy. The first time Aang walked into Gyatso's arms, the monk zipped around the temple, telling everyone in sight about his ward's accomplishments. There was obviously never a baby more intelligent or amazing than this one that had wormed his way into the elder's heart.

After a year and a half of raising Aang as his own, Gyatso could finally admit to himself that he loved the child. Tashi warned Gyatso of getting too close, but the monk could not help himself. How was he supposed to watch this child grow and not love him? With every milestone the boy reach, the love just grew. A whisper in the back of the mind warned him he was getting in too deep, but Gyatso was his mentor. He was supposed to love the child. 

The illusion of being merely his mentor shattered when Aang looked up at Gyatso, he smile full of new tiny teeth, and uttered his first word, "Dada!"

Gyatso stared at the boy in shock, as Aang clapped his hands together in glee, obviously proud of himself. "Dada! Dada!"

There was the rub. Gyatso was not Aang's father. Not really, and yet the last year and half told otherwise. He had been fooling himself into thinking he could only remain as a mentor to the child. A mentor did not regale his ward with bedtime stories, complete with voices. A mentor did not sing the nightmares away, or kiss skinned knees. A mentor's heart did not break with the thought of the child leaving one day.

Gyatso was careful to watch himself when the other monks were around, but when Aang and Gyatso were alone in their rooms, the airbender relish every forbidden cry of "Dada!" Gyatso knew the other monks would disapprove. Tashi was already bearing down on his peer for coddling the boy too much, but the forbidden fruit tasted so wonderful. When Aang and Gyatso were alone, he could be a father. He could have a son. Gyatso could have a family that he never knew he craved.

Gyatso meant to nip the habit in the bud, he really did, but before he knew it, "Dada" became "Daddy" and there was no stopping it. When Aang grew old enough, he too joined in on the conspiracy. In front of the other monks, he was always "Gyatso." The elder monk could not help but flinch whenever his given name came out of the boy's mouth. It seemed wrong, somehow.

"Daddy!" Aang screeched from his bedroom. Fearing the worst, Gyatso flew from he scrolls he was studying and into his son's bedroom. Aang was barely three years old, and to Gyatso, he still seemed just as fragile as he did on his very first day at the Southern Air Temple. Gyatso thought his heart was going to pound out of chest, and yet when he reached Aang's room, his heart began pounding for a different reason.

The boy was airbending. Clasped in Aang's little chubby hands was his own personal whirlwind. Gyatso sat heavily on the floor. This was impossible. At his age, the boy shouldn't even be able to bend accidentally, let alone create something as intentional and advanced as a miniature tornado. Yet Gyatso was witnessing the impossible with his very own eyes. Suddenly, Tashi's vague message about the boy being important began to reply in the monk's mind. Every child was important, but what sort of importance did this boy really hold?

"Did you do this, Aang?" Gyatso managed to ask, still stunned by his ward's abilities.

"Yep!" Aang popped the 'p' at the end of his word, beaming so widely, that his eyes looked like little slits.

"How?"

"I watched you, Daddy," Aang answered, as if it was obvious.

"You learned this just by watching me?"

"Yep!"

Gyatso let his head drop into his hands. Of course he was proud. Why wouldn't he be? His own child performed advanced bending techniques at a very young age! Who wouldn't be proud? At this rate, Aang was on the path to be the youngest airbending master of all time. The problem was, the sooner Aang became a master, the sooner he would leave Gyatso all alone. The monk lived for almost six decades by himself, and after only three short years with the boy, Gyatso could not imagine being alone ever again.

The Council of Elders had a field day with the news of Aang bending. They demanded a demonstration, and leaned together, whispering and gesturing wildly as Gyatso stood at the back of the room, completely isolated from the events that were going on. Gyatso was part of the Council of Elders, and yet his novice status still made him the outcast. It was as if they saw him as nothing more than an intruder, marauding his way into their elite group.

Their whispers running through the air, seemingly mocking him, the monk finally snapped, "Will you please tell me what is going on?"

Monk Pasang turned to the child, "Aang, will you please go outside and play with the other boys for a while?"

Once the child was gone, the Council of Elders turned their eyes to Gyatso. Standing in front of the elders, Gyatso felt as if he was on trial. Was he in trouble? Was Aang in trouble? Were they going to be separated? So many scenarios ran through Gyatso's head, but none prepared him for the truth.

"We think Aang might be the avatar."

The wind. The wind must have rushed past Gyatso's ears, because there was no way they just said Aang was the avatar. It was just the wind. Even an airbender can get blown off course by their own element.

"I'm sorry?"

Monk Tashi rubbed the bridge of his nose as if to fight off an incoming migraine. "We don't know for sure, of course, but we have suspected for a long time. This evidence just supports our claim."

"How long?" Gyatso demanded. "How long have you thought Aang might be the avatar?"

The elders shifted to look at one another, their hesitance palpable in the air. Monk Gyatso sniffed, straightening up, not one to be beat down by a man younger than himself. "That's why Aang came here."

"What?" Gyatso gasped.

"Aang was born on the cusp of Avatar Roku's death. The Mother Superior at the Western Air Temple felt a great spiritual presence the moment Aang entered this world."

"That doesn't mean he's the avatar!" Gyatso argued, refusing to believe anything the monks said.

"And it also doesn't mean that he is not!" Tashi fired back, spittle flying from his lips. Tashi scrubbed a hand down his face, and took a deep breath. "Look, we cannot entirely rule out the possibility that Aang is the new avatar. We have yet to test him."

"So test him," Gyatso cried out. "Test him so we can get this whole charade over with!"

"And what happens if he is the avatar?" Master Pasang intervened. "What then?"

"You are already too close to the boy," Tashi continued. "If he is the avatar, then that means he is no ordinary airbender. He has a duty not just to the people of this temple, but the world."

Resigned, Monk Gyatso hung his head. "If he is the avatar, then what will that mean?"

"He will need training," Tashi started. "Not just training of the elements, but of the world. He needs to know the people to serve the people."

"What?" Gyatso cried out. "You're just going to send him away?"

"We're going to do no such thing," Tashi sniffed indignantly.

"You are his master," spoke Pasang. "You need to be the one to train him."

"That also means you'll have to be the one to let him go," Tashi sneered. "Do you think you will be able to do so?"

Gyatso clenched his fists, his fingernails leaving half-moon imprints in his palms. "Nothing is concrete yet. He may not be the avatar." He wasn't the avatar. Gyatso refused to believe it. If Aang was the avatar, it meant he would have to let him go.

"Bring him by in the morning, we'll test him then."

Monk Gyatso nodded, knowing there was no point to argue, even though that was exactly what he wanted to do. Tomorrow would prove whether or not his life was about to end, because at the end of the day, Aang was his life. The avatar was a great duty, and as shameful as it was to admit, Gyatso did not want the boy he saw as a son to be the avatar. If Aang was the avatar, it meant that ultimately, one day, he would have to leave. Monk Gyatso would be left alone.

Being the avatar was also dangerous. Tensions were high, and with Sozin as the Fire Lord of the Fire Nation, the balance of the world could tip in any direction. Fire Lord Sozin was unhinged. Everyone knew it. Rumor had it that he just watched as Avatar Roku burned to his death. Sozin watched as his best friend, and savior of the world, perished. War was brewing, and if Aang truly was the avatar, then he would be at the helm of that war.

It was selfish, but if Aang was just a normal boy, Gyatso could go on pretending for just a bit longer that he was truly Aang's father. Aang was Gyatso's world, but the avatar meant everything to the world. As awful as it might be, Gyatso wished he could keep his son to himself. Keep him unblemished from the horrors of the world. To keep him safe. To keep him home.

Gyatso returned to his rooms, and was surprised to find Aang sitting quietly at the table, coloring on some scraps of paper.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were playing with the other boys?" Gyatso asked.

"I waited for you, Daddy, 'cause we always hafta be together!" Aang paused in his coloring to grin at his mentor.

Something cold settled over Gyatso's heart, but he dismissed it, and settled down next to his ward. "What are you drawing?"

"It's us, see?" Aang showed him the drawing. One stick figure seemed to be holding hands with a large, orange blob. Aang was not much of an artist, but it was the most beautiful thing Gyatso had ever seen.

"It's amazing, Aang." Gyatso paused. "Do you mind if I keep it?"

Aang nodded, shoving the paper his way, before starting anew on a fresh page.

Gyatso tenderly held the drawing, staring at the little blue stick figure that was obviously meant to represent Aang. The boy put so much trust into his mentor, enough to even deem him as a father. Did Gyatso deserve such respect? Did he deserve such love when he selfishly wanted to keep the boy all to himself? If he really was the avatar, he would not be able to keep him at home. The avatar belonged to the people and the avatar's number one priority was not themselves, or their loves, but to the world. Gyatso knew Roku only briefly, but even he could tell the trials of being the avatar wore on the man. Could he watch his son go through the same thing?

Gyatso's fingers began to tremble, and crumpled the edge of Aang's drawing. Folding the paper up, he put it in his robe for safe-keeping, before drawing Aang into his side for a hug.

"Aang, I want you to know that no matter what, I will always love you. The future is very unsure right now, and we cannot know what will happen, but there is nothing in the world that can change how I feel about you." During his speech, tears began to drip down the older man's face, falling onto the child's bald head. Gyatso did not feel the need to wipe them away.

Aang glanced up at his mentor, confusion written across his face. "Daddy be sad?"

"Yes, son," Gyatso answered gruffly.

"Why?"

"Sometimes grown-up get sad. Sometimes we get mad, but even if I get mad or sad, just know that does not mean I love you any less, okay?"

Aang pressed his face into the front of Gyatso's robes, his tiny arms wrapping around his mentor as far as they could go. "I love you, Daddy."

One more tear escaped, running a track down Gyatso's withered face. "I love you, too."

The next morning, Gyatso watched in dread as Aang picked all four toys from past avatars with no hesitation. With all four toys before him, the boy looked at peace. Without any instructions, he played with each toy as if they were especially made for him. As if he had played with them before in a past life. Before Gyatso could pull Aang away, Monk Tashi met his eyes. There was mistaking it now. Aang was definitely the avatar.

Once the boy and his mentor returned to their rooms, Gyatso exploded. He tipped the table over, tore scrolls that were antiques to pieces, all unheeded by the little boy watching in the corner, his eyes wide in shock. Falling to his knees, a scream ripped from Gyatso's throat, and echoed throughout the temple. Gyatso screamed until it felt as it there was no air left in his lungs and no fight left in his body. The monk slumped over, his forehead pressed to the ground. Monk Gyatso was not crying for it felt like there were no tears left in his body. It felt as if there was nothing left.

A small hand on his shoulder broke him from his stupor. Aang looked worriedly over his mentor, chewing on his lower lip. "Daddy be mad?"

Suddenly, Gyatso felt like laughing, even though there was nothing funny about this situation. "Don't, Aang."

"Don't what?"

"Don't call me Daddy. I am your mentor, not your father. From now on, you will address me as Monk Gyatso."

Gyatso refused to look at Aang. He refused to see the look of heartbreak on the boy's face that he knew must mirror his own. Aang was the avatar – he couldn't be his father. He did not have his luxury. The best thing Gyatso could do was teach Aang to be the best leader that he could possibly be, and perhaps, one day that would be enough. Hopefully it could be enough for the both of them. The avatar would always have to leave, and he did not need a fake father holding him back.

Nine years later, Gyatso's worst nightmare came to fruition. All he was left with was empty rooms, a goodbye note, and a picture of a little stick figure holding hands with an orange blob.


End file.
